


A house not yet a home

by OrbeaVariegata



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternative Perspective, Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Developing Relationship, Gen, Living Together, Multiple Perspectives, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Snippets, Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-24
Updated: 2018-07-03
Packaged: 2019-04-27 10:28:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 1,934
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14423463
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OrbeaVariegata/pseuds/OrbeaVariegata
Summary: note: Avengers: Infinity War will be out in a couple of days, so please view this as a "before Infinity War" fic.After what happened in "Civil War", the Avengers (or at least some of them) are forced yet again to hole up together in one of Stark's various Safe Houses.They do what they should've been doing all along. They cope. Well, more or less.





	1. The kitchen is a safe space.

Bucky’s the first one to discover the kitchen. Well, not the first one. It’s Tony’s after all, and the Rightful Owner of This Place sits here clutching his mug of coffee for 90% of the time. But he just stares straight ahead and he ignores pretty much everything and everyone around him, so Bucky makes himself at home after a little while. That’s just how it is.

 

He remembers he’s always been rubbish at cooking anything. He remembers it right after making himself his first cup of tea in this house. After that, there’s always a sip or two left in the coffee machine for him to scavenge. Bucky doesn’t act surprised because he’s not. There’s always food in the fridge, too, something you just have to heat up in the microwave. Easy mac, frozen pizza. Tony doesn’t even blink at the sound of the timer.

 

Bucky would come, pour himself some coffee and raid the kitchen. Sometimes he’d meet Sam and they’d bicker and shove each other around. When Steve comes in, he tosses his gear aside and helps himself to some orange juice and a dry mouthful of cereal. He’s usually quiet in the mornings. Sometimes even Nat makes an appearance, downing a glass of cold milk and chomping down a quick sandwich, cautiously eyeing their host.

 

At first, everyone starts when Tony gets up to rinse his mug. It doesn’t take long for everyone to learn to get out of his way when he does, though. He usually vanishes down into his workshop once he finishes his coffee and life then resumes for everyone else. That’s just how it is.

 

Bucky takes to Tony like one takes to a grumpy old cat that never leaves its corner and screeches if you touch it. He knows that feel, somehow. Some days, he just sits a reasonable distance away, almost a companionable silence between them as they ingest their early morning caffeine. Things might change. Right now, that’s just how it is.


	2. Remembering

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony's not quite ready to kick-start himself back to life. He's remembering stuff instead.

Tony sips his – whatever this is, Steve got it from some off-brand store a safe distance away – and thinks. His mind is drifting most of the time now. His latest mark sits somewhere downstairs, chest open, wires spilling. He can’t focus.

The others orbit him like electrons orbit their core, never meeting him in the middle. It’s just as well. He can’t see them.

They’ve been there for a couple of weeks now, if he’s counting right. He knows he must have invited them here, get them to safety. He knows he must have provided them with food, bedding, a roof over their heads and the target off their backs. But his head is buzzing mildly now, and he can’t remember.

He remembers different things, though. He remembers Obediah and his father, Howard Stark sitting with his back towards him, whispering. Obediah’s eyes flicking off to him every few seconds. He’d felt safe then, didn’t he? Quite. Maybe.

He remembers accepting his role as leader of Stark Industries, the board of directors watching him appraisingly. He’d felt accomplished, then. Right?  
And then there were all kinds of people applying for the position of personal assistant. What a prestigious position, PA of Tony Stark. Made their nipples hard.  
Tony takes a sip, lips curled against the ugly taste, and the ugly thought.

But it was true. They were ready to lap up his spit, most of them. And if they weren’t, they were condescending towards the elderly clerk herding them in. That was even worse. After hours and hours Tony had been ready to call it a day. Hell, he’d been ready to do without a PA. Couldn’t be that hard.

When she entered the room it was different. He hadn’t even heard her first name right, he was steamrolled by her bright, confident smile. She shook his hand, and when he couldn’t find a way to start the interview, offered to pick his jar off the floor for him. Smiling politely. One eyebrow raised only far enough for her cheekiness to be discernible.  
He’d laughed, then. Found his voice and his humor somewhere and they started, more of a mutual bickering than an actual interview. She was, truly, a breath of fresh air. Whoever was to come after her didn’t stand a chance.

From then on she was Miss Potts, rightfully earning her nickname. She was Pepper Potts. Then she was Pepper.

Only years later, after all of it, and only once, he’d whispered it in her ear.

“I love you, Virginia.”

And she’d smiled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Streams of consciousness. 
> 
> I finally had the time to write a little again. There's another chapter in my head right now, but it doesn't read as well on paper as it does in my mind, so it needs some cooking down still. Coming soon, i hope.


	3. Arriving

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky and the others arrive at the Safe House. It's sure different than expected.

Bucky always thought the Avengers as a group were severely out of sync. So it’s kind of impressive seeing them arrive all on the same day, with only a few hours in between on account of how desperately scattered they’d been for the past couple of months.

He’d arrived with Steve, because of course he did. Natasha had hitched a ride with the marksman, Wanda and the tall silent one. The Colonel already sits on a cushion, mug in hand, when they arrive, silently watching their congregation in the small living room.

Mostly, their first request is a decent cup of coffee. Then there’s the question of where they were supposed to hit the sack.

Bunking up is, for some reason, out of the question. Bucky finds it quite decadent for a group of hard-boiled soldiers and spies. He doesn’t mind sharing, as long as some privacy is to be had.

Besides, nothing like the presence ofa living, breathing being when the ceiling comes down on him, choking the life out of his lungs and threatening to crush his skull. Gives him something to focus on, like the ticking of a clock.

He’s never felt so awkward as when he stands there in the room  assigned to him – _his own room_ –, watching Tony Stark pull some bedding over his blanket and pillow and change the old dusty sheets for new ones, put the old in a bin and wander off into the corridor.

But it _is_ one kind of a sight.

It’s also the only time they actually exchange words.

 

“You okay with the duvet?”

“Sure.”

“Imma get you some towels later, and some new sheets to change.”

“Alright. Thanks.”

 

It’s not much in terms of a conversation, but the last time they’d seen each other, things had gotten downhill real fast.

It’s actually a hell of a difference.

Bucky can feel he’d tensed up in Stark’s presence, and forces himself to ease up. There’s no animosity there. It’s something else, something he can’t put his finger on just yet.

 

One by one, the Avengers settle in. Steve’s room is right next door, then there’s Nat’s.

 

Bucky realizes his is the last door on the corridor, his window opening up to a patch of grass, and the beginning of a forest not too far away.

 He’s kind of grateful for not being surrounded on either side, for the view of a quick getaway. He doesn’t know if it’s intentional.

 But it doesn’t have to be to make his heartbeat slow into a more comfortable rhythm.


	4. When you're gon' get your act together? I ain't your mama.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam's a wise man. He still didn't sign up for this.

Sam Wilson is a wise man.

He knows a sour mood when he sees one. Especially when it’s someone he knows better than most of the others.

Well, it does help that Steve is horribly bad at hiding his feelings. And by that, he means really, awfully bad. Aw, man.

But Sam Wilson is a wise man, and he knows how to alleviate a temper tantrum in its early stages.

So, he takes Steve on a lot of hikes through the woods. They roam the place until Sam knows every corner and every stone within eight miles. Every tree. Every leaf and every needle on every tree.

Sam longs for his wings, to explore the area from above, but that’s not an option right now. Not while they’re in hiding. And certainly not while Steve is mumbling under his breath beside him, almost visible fuming until they finally hit the point where he’d go into pure runner mode.

Also, it’s kind of nice when Steve keeps to Sam’s pace for a change, them running in mutual silence, timing their steps to each other.

Sam Wilson is also wise enough not to start a conversation until he sees Steve’s shoulders slump down half an inch, his body finally easing up as his mind emerges from its perpetual brooding.

Thing is, Sam didn’t exactly anticipate Steve Rogers to be the one he’d have to keep a close eye on. If someone had asked him beforehand who was eligible for emitting the worst emotional tension, it would be Barnes and Stark.

Really, he’d come to the House fully expecting to be extinguishing a couple of fires in the long run. Or playing bodyguard to one party or another, whichever would need it the most.

He’d even felt the trepidation of half-guilt after being the one who’d disclosed Steve’s and Bucky’s whereabouts to Stark. It had been in good faith, he’d told himself, as he still tells himself from time to time.

Well damn. He hadn’t known what the Winter Soldier had done to Stark’s parents. And he certainly hadn’t expected anyone else to know. Let alone Steve Rogers.

That thought still irks him. A bit. Well, a bit more than a bit.

Stark and Barnes had adopted a form of peaceful coexistence. There’s coffee, there’s newspapers, there’s a tv-set and a radio and people can keep themselves entertained fairly easily without actually having to interact.

Steve walks around, sulking, his hoodie deep down his forehead. The room seems to darken when the three of them happen to share the same space. It’s usually Tony who makes for the door and vanishes downstairs for a couple of hours, leaving the two of them to chat in a low whisper.

But sometimes even Bucky Barnes hasn’t the gall to deal with a 6″0 man-child.

One day Sam comes into the kitchen and it’s like entering the fifth circle of hell. He dips down fully expecting having to wedge Tony Stark from Steve’s grip but it’s a disheveled Bucky emerging from under his pal’s heavy clutches, blood running from his nose. There’s a cut on Steve’s forehead.

The kitchen is a mess.

So it’s cooling down time for them, just like mom used to teach him and his brothers. Sam puts them both under quarantine in their respective rooms, handing the keys to Natasha. She’ll know when to let those idiots back out again.

Meanwhile, Tony locks himself up in his workshop with only the occasional loud _bang_ to tell them he’s still up and around. Only the Colonel has license to enter the den, and he shoots Sam the occasional raised eyebrow whenever he returns from his check-runs.

Sam sighs. He’s a clever man, but these guys will pull his last nerve eventually.

It’s before he can finally settle down enough to drowse off on the couch when he hears a suspicious giggle coming from the last corridor.

Ugh. The damned windows. Of course.

He rounds the building to catch the two bastards sitting on their windowsills, feet dangling down idly, chatting pleasantly away. They do a great job of looking contrite, but there’s genuine mirth in Steve’s eyes and Bucky only manages to hide a broad grin underneath his hand.

They still get to bring the kitchen back up to par.

Sam is a wise man, for sure. He knows how to handle a situation.

It’s just …

He really didn’t sign up to be the designated mama to a bunch of mischievous puppy dogs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i have a cold. *whines* i really didn't sign up for this either.
> 
> i hope you're still ok with the kind of tumblr-ish prose. i really can't come up with anything else right now. also, the style keeps room for imaginiation, i think.

**Author's Note:**

> This is a wip. I sincerely hope there's more to come. (Work is a bi*ch and I'm always tired so...)  
> As it stands, there is no definite order of chapters. This might change, but right now it is what it is.


End file.
